A Story for Wolver
by Rebel Born
Summary: This is part of a collection of short stories involving Wolverine of the X-men. I wrote them for friends but since I haven't used last names they are anon in style.


Logan stalked down the long corridor cloaked in a wash of blood, sweat, and grime

Logan stalked down the long corridor cloaked in a wash of blood, sweat, and grime. Holding his injured left arm with unvarnished disgust he shouldered a thick wooden door open against the smooth kitchen wall, nearly forcing it off its hinges. Hank McCoy, also known as Beast, looked up after finishing a particularly enjoyable dissertaion on the validitiy of ancient egyptian prescriptions purported to be effective against serious afflictions of the lymphatic vessels spread by the nematode, _Wuchereria bancrofti_. With an air of light exsaperation Hank abdomished, 'Logan, if you insist on using the danger room without safeties and not informing others, namely me as the teams physician,' Logan cut off Hank with a dissertation of his own, located in his middle finger and slammed the outside door on the way to the stables. Beast pushed his glasses back against the bridge of his nose and finished to himself, 'I'll be forced to limit your privliges my friend.'

In quick, solid strides Logan rounded a corner of the stables running into a small obstecle of walking hay bale. Wolver managed to trip on the only piece of wayward stable equipment that wasn't hanging on the wall and fell flat on her butt with the hay bale on her chest. 'What the fuck!' she screeched at the quickly retreating demon. Logan looked back at her with a shit-eating grin and left for his favorite horse with a kiss through the air. She was gonna have a talk with beast later. His romps in the play room were really getting on her nerves. Perhaps it was the fact she had fallen on her butt with hay on her chest 3 times that week. Devil-bastard. He deserved a taste of his own medicine. With that thought perched on the gate of justice, Wolver took note of the direction Logan galloped across the field and saddled up.

Logan was almost cheerful with angry energy. The feel of his horse's jarring gallop bubbled up contentedly to mix with his own animal vibration. Solid, pulsing, and deeply ingrained. Beast upon beast. The wind plastered his sweaty hair down and, with every turn of his head, whipped it about his cheeks. The sting of it only added to his aliveness. His mount's head feistily pulled at the reins recognizing the last bit of path that led to the mansion's swimming hole. Logan twined the leather reins tightly around his strong, solid hands and guided the animal to the waters edge. Taking just enough time to remove his clothes without ripping them any further, he threw them haphazardly on the ground and dove into the welcoming chill.

Brought up on horses, and fast as the wind, Wolver positioned herself downwind and watched Logan dispose of his clothing. From her hidden vantage she murmured a low purring sound deep in her throat. She hadn't expected to catch in naked, but her mind was quick and she adapted to the lewd situation. 

Since she had started work at the mansion, she had noticed and been eyeing Logan. He had be returning the interest with what could be called insolent decadence. Each relished the game and were staged, sniffing each other's intentions. Perhaps it was time to up the ante.

Wolver took charge of her horse and quickly swooped into his inner sanctum, instituted precise grab-n-run tactics and sped off. A fury of noise made her turn just quick enough to glimpse one angry man rage out of the swimming hole dripping water from every prominant god-given limb. She could have sworn she saw a bit of a smile there too. She blew him a kiss and escaped around a bush out of site.

Logan, injured from the danger room, and still tending heightened levels of excitement from grueling practice kills came out of the water like the guns of navarone. Anger is a volatile emotion. It is widely known that it is an emotion easily turned to pronounced violence. Only the most proficient mindreaders would know what he felt was not violence but an almost overbearing need to sexually own and dominate. Primal rage channeled to primal lust. Fueled by male feather flashing and weeks of verbal banter with a desireable female. Set into action by bold playing during a volatile emotional state. Veins along the inside of his arm pumped full of hot blood to feed his muscles. Thoughts of the danger room fell away as the pain from his wounds became like insignificant background noise. Anger, pain, and an inborn animal's right to mate all lived on one end of the spectrum and like any beast in captivity the capacity to bring this natural conditioning born of wildness to the surface could not be contained by civilized manners or pretty grooming. Neither of which were to be seen. His body hardened. Logan had been fully aware she had followed him by horseback. He had been fully aware she had watched him undress. He had been fully aware of her state of arousel. Whether of not she conciously intended, she had released the intoxicating scent thick into the stable from earlier. The slits of his eyes melted with his bodyheat, black and steamy. He took possession of the horse and let the wind flick the water droplets off his skin to be consumed into the blaze of fire that trailed beneath the devil's own hooves beneath him.

With a light laugh and a feeling of lingering excitement, Wolver continued at a jolly trot over the path. She was pleased at her trophy and brought it to her nose to inhale the sweet triumph. Wreathed in giggles and heady self-congratulation she almost felt like jumping off her horse to roll in the warm smelling leather and cotton. Flashing thoughts of Logan, steaming naked, enticed her imagination. She thought the only way things could have been better would have been if someone had taken pictures. Wolver laughed outloud. She'd have to remember that for next time. She clip-clopped jauntily down the last forest stretch before reaching the mansion as the sunset spun joyful, hot colors as far as the eye could—' WHAM!

Wolver felt the air get knocked out of her lungs as she hit the ground in an entangled ball of hot flesh, poised and taut. She slowly was force-rolled to her back. Light glinted off the blackness of his eyes, his wide shoulders suddenly wider in the quickly fickle and darkening sky, his majesty sharpened by her own vivid trepidation. Meeting Logan's eyes for a flashing moment, her gaze dropped instantly at the intensity that burned there. His mouth drew deliberately nearer her throat. Just above her jugular, one of the bodies most sensitive and erotic areas. 'I just…I wanted…to,' Wolver stammered, nearly frozen with the closeness of his body, and her own dangerous feelings coming to surface in response to his brutal and stimulating pursuit of her.

'You're not sleeping tonight.' 

Wolver gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head, unable to find sufficient air to even answer. She watched as his arms came out to hold her own paralized limbs firmly above her head. 

'And darlin',' he promised in the merest exhalation of breath, 'I'm gonna tie you to my bed for a week and see if I can discover everything you like. Do you understand?'

He fingered her clothing softly, then proceeded to rip it all off with as much sensual violence as he had just shown gentleness.

'But first we gotta meet on commen ground,' Logan purred.


End file.
